Music / Reviews
Review: Richie Kotzen, Thekla
Peter Von Toy‘s grand, tongue-in-cheek intro announces that he’s “the most independent artist on earth”. That’s ‘independent’ as in not beholden to The Man, as opposed to ‘indie’, which is a whole other bucket of slop. The Von Toy shtick is that he’s never recorded or released a note of music, nor has he put out any videos. In addition, he asks audiences to refrain from doing the posting-shakycam-footage-on-YouTube thing, at which he’s been remarkably successful. That because it’s all about the live experience, man. This “the music industry is bullshit” stance is cunningly guaranteed to raise a cheer among everyone who’s ever seen a great artist – in whatever genre – fucked over by clueless suits (i.e. the entire audience).
A three-year tour has given him ample opportunity to hone his genial gangly hippy busker persona, as well of plenty of material for his narrative songs. These include a shaggy dog story about a lost lighter, a lovely girl and a drug dealer. The bluesy Chicago Comedown recounts how he was unceremoniously deported from America at the start of what should have been a career-enhancing tour with slide guitarist Brother Dege (of Django Unchained soundtrack fame).
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There’s also plenty of percussive, stompalong material in his repertoire, presumably developed to quell a rowdy rock audience when armed only with an acoustic guitar, the overall effect being rather like Led Zep III as rewritten by Alice’s Restaurant-era Arlo Guthrie. Having got us all onside, he announces this is his last ever gig. Mind you, he also claims that Peter Von Toy isn’t his real name that that he’s actually French, despite having no trace of an accent, so who knows what to believe?
They may not have a great deal in common musically, but it’s easy to understand why Von Toy was invited to open the final UK leg of Richie Kotzen‘s tour. Doomed to go down in rock history as the chap who was slung out of hair metallers Poison for shagging the drummer’s fiancee, Kotzen is a hugely accomplished singer and multi-instrumentalist whose slippery refusal to occupy a genre pigeonhole makes him a marketing nightmare. That’s presumably why this solo band gig is aboard the good ship Thekla, even though his previous Bristol show fronting rockin’ supergroup The Winery Dogs took place at the Academy.
That said, enough of us have picked our way gingerly through the red-faced, beer-bellied Hingerland-supporting casualties slumped in the city centre to pack the venue on this most sweltering of evenings. Kotzen’s power trio open in hard rocking style and despite the frontman’s rich vocals being initially lost somewhere in the mix, it’s immediately apparent that his long-serving musical partners – bassist Dylan Wilson and singing drummer Mike Bennett – make a formidable team, impressively buffed through months of touring.
Clearly unwilling to be outdone by Billy Sheehan, Kotzen’s illustrious compadre in both Mr. Big and The Winery Dogs, Wilson is on particularly impressive form, giving it plenty of slap bass as things take a turn for the funky. Having taken to rocking the Johnny Depp hairstyle and facial hair arrangement, Kotzen himself continues to impress with his warm, distinctive guitar tone that derives in part from eschewing picks.
By the time they get to a suitably euphoric High from the Change album, we’re into blue-eyed soul territory, which continues to dominate when Kotzen sits at the keyboard for The Road, drawn from his Wilson Hawk recordings with Richie Zito. Close your eyes and it could almost be Steve Winwood up there, minus the jazz that has come to swamp Winwood’s performances of late.
Like his 21 (count ’em!) solo albums, this is a show that covers plenty of musical territory before finding its way back to a full-on climactic rock-out. But it all flows remarkably well and never feels disjointed, despite the rather unnecessary bass and drum solos that permit the frontman to scuttle backstage for a breather. Flashing us a peace sign as he departs, Kotzen clearly revels in his status as a musical anachronism who ploughs his own furrow out here on the margins but retains the ability to dip back into the rock mainstream when inspiration and, presumably, finances demand. Long may he run, as Uncle Neil would put it.
All photos by Mike Evans
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